What a shiver of triumph and loathing shook my frail frame when, among the plain innocent names in the hotel recorder, his fiendish conundrum would ejaculate in my face!
And I catch myself thinking that our long journey had only defiled with a sinuous trail of slime the lovely, trustful, dreamy, enormous country that by then, in retrospect, was no more to us than a collection of dog-eared maps, ruined tour books, old tires, and her sobs in the night—every night, every night—the moment I feigned sleep.
been reading for 8 hours straight.
done with part one
Will this be my first and last novel that I’ve read out of my own free will?
there is no such thing as that rose-colored campus life. why?
because there is nothing rose-colored in the world.
everything is all a bunch of colors mixed up, you see.
Humbert is every man who is driven by desire, wanting his Lolita so badly that it never occurs to him to consider her as a human being, or as anything but a dream-figment made flesh.